In the Watches of the Night - Tales of the Dear Rob 'Verse
by Missy the Least
Summary: The year is 1969, and General Robert E. Hogan is pacing...both past and present meet and mix when Rob must confront his greatest fear - waiting for Death to claim a friend. This will be the 'scaffold' to hang all my works regarding the memories and writings of Col. Klink. Rated T (all M rated story arcs by reference link only).
1. Christmas, 1969 - Beginning of the End

In the Watches of the Night

A/N: I am writing this fic as a scaffold for the various plot-bunnies that have leapt to life as a result of my first fic for this fandom, entitled "Dear Rob" link: s/8819221/1/Dear-Rob Although you can just jump right in, reading the first story is advisable, just so you know what was going on, and why our friends are where they are. Also, please note that I am experimenting with various writing devices, which should result in creating several levels of story-telling, which in turn, will require rating some chapters as one shot Mature. Those chapters will only be referenced here with links for the interested. Any chapter that references slash or the possibility of same will be marked. Please enjoy, reviews welcome.

As usual, the ritual disclaimer - I own NUSSINK! except my own words.

Chapter 1 – Waiting and brooding

_December 25, 1969_

_Bound Brook, New Jersey_

General (Ret.) Robert E. Hogan was pacing.

Now, anyone who actually knew General Robert E. Hogan (retired – supposedly) knew that pacing was not unusual.

'Pacing' was the man's default mode.

A question he can't answer (yet), a problem he can't fix (yet again), something or someone that he's waiting for, and General Robert E. Hogan (should be damned retired by now, can't they find anybody else to do this job right?) will pace.

He will pace in what ever space he has; whether a room, a hall, a tunnel, a tent, he will stride firmly, making the rounds, one end to the other, marking time more clearly than a metronome.

A pacing Hogan is a working Hogan.

A pacing Hogan is a normal Hogan.

A pacing Hogan is a brilliant Hogan.

Because a pacing Hogan can answer any question, solve any problem, out-wait any situation, out-wit any opponent.

Except one.

And now, General Robert E. Hogan (wishing that had retired and stayed retired) is facing a cold hard fact: he's waiting for Death to claim his dearest friend – and there's nothing he can do about it.

* * *

A/N: Special thanks to Snooky, Kat, Wolfie for beta-ing this new 'verse!


	2. Chapter 2 - A Friend in Need

In the Watches of the Night

Chapter 2 – A Friend in Need

_December 25, 1969, 07:00 hrs_

_Bound Brook, New Jersey_

Two old friends sitting around a kitchen table, drinking coffee and making plans...

"The funeral arrangements are already made, Rob. Did it himself months ago; when he first got here. All paid up in advance, even."

"That infamous German efficiency again."

"Boy, I'll say! He even had me read his will, just in case you, well, just in case. Heck, five hundred bucks for each of the kids; yours, mine, everybodies! And then, he gave Betty ten thousand dollars for taking care of him, saying that nurses don't get paid enough for the amazing job they do. And that's just for starters. Did you get to read it for yourself yet?"

"Yeah, I did. Told me last night that he's already got the gang thinking of people who can use the help. Garlotti's at the top of the list I understand."

"Yep, he's been laid up for months after falling off that roof; says it's a real kick in the head, to get through the entire war without a scratch, and then be just about killed by a Frisbee."

"Well, once …. once …." The silence grows longer as the one called Rob struggles to come to grips with everything. A deep breath, another try: "We'll make sure everything gets done right."

They fall silent and sip at their coffee cups.

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_December 25, 1969, 10:45 hrs_

_Bound Brook, New Jersey_

Some things never change.

No matter that his hand-picked volunteers were not heading out to blow up a bridge in the middle of Germany in the middle of the night.

The guys weren't making their way through a pathless thousand year old forest to meet a stranger who might betray them to their enemies.

No risk in getting caught; no fear of torture or death.

The boys were just driving a small truck from Central New Jersey to Staten Island. Broad daylight. Perfect weather. Less than an hour over real, civilized, not-about-to-be-bombed roads. They break into the house, set up a feast, build a pair of bikes, pile the presents around the tree, replace the broken-down icebox with a real refrigerator, leave a little note, set off a little surprise for the neighborhood, and go off on their merry way.

Simple. No sweat.

And so, with mission 'Santa's Helpers' well underway and the boys due back any minute, guess what General Robert E. Hogan (retired, yeah right) was doing?

He was pacing...again.

"Boy, this is just like old times! Except that nobody's dodging patrols..." said his host, before he was interrupted by a bespectacled teen, tall and lanky with cow-licked dishwater blonde hair and merry hazel eyes.

"What patrols, Dad?"

The restless man stopped his 243rd lap of the rec room, long enough to throw a smile at the inquisitive youngster, as his father answered:

"Sorry Pete E still can't tell you, it's classified."

Before Pete E could scowl, his Uncle Rob said, "Pete E, you won't have to hear that for much longer; seems that the current administration needs a diversion from this war, and a way to celebrate the last big one we won. They're declassifying Stalag 13 by this summer the latest."

Before either father or son could react, the sound of a truck pulling onto the gravel drive rumbled through the house, followed by the sounds of an argument:

"...and I nearly dropped le jambon! Could you not put le chat away like I told you?"

"For the ruddy last time, I DID put the bleedin' cat away, and I've the scars to prove it!"

"Scars? SCARS? You call a tiny scratch scars? Do not blame la petite, she was scared."

"_She _was? Louie, that soddin' furball near took me 'and off!"

"Kinch, wo ich den LKW Parken?"

"Um die Rückseite zu nehmen and guys, knock it off! The Kommandant may... oh hey Betty!" The voices are cut off as the front door of their destination opens, revealing the lady of the house. Bodies jostle and jockey for room as Betty Newkirk Carter grabs coats and kisses while ushering her brothers in blood and love inside.

Betty issues her orders: "Go on, go on along, the lot of you! Best make your report, he's been goin' at it like a tiger at the zoo, and before you ask, poor Wilhelm is better than he's been in a month 'o Sundays, but do keep a lid on it, he's resting, excitement's been a bit much."

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_December 25, 1969, 11:05 hrs_

_Bound Brook, New Jersey_

Karl Langenscheidt was having the best Christmas ever, all things considered. As foreman of the Schatzie Toy Company of Westchester County, New York, it was his privilege to deliver the yearly donations to the Red Cross; but this year, he not only had that honor, he was also part of Colonel Hogan's latest mission (he never could think of him as anything but 'Colonel Hogan'). The men and guards of Barracks Two and Nine were particular friends and had all kept in touch through the years; a chance to help an old friend and bring happiness to his family was a mission that Karl was glad to take.

Karl smiled as Kinch made his report on their Christmas Caper.

"Smooth as silk, Rob. It was a little crowded in the cab" Kinch is smiling as he glossed over the others acting like kids (nothing unusual about that) when his friends and co-conspirators started up (just like every other mission).

"not for the first bloody time either" (Newkirk grumbled).

"ta gueule" (Lebeau glowered).

"stow it Peter," (his little sister huffed).

"...but," Kinch glared for silence, "Karl got us through the back streets of Staten Island in record time. We started unloading the truck, and after Newkirk 'let' us in…"

"also in record time if I may add"

"Peter!" It was Betty's turn to glare at her eldest brother.

"Pierre! Assez!"

"We started unloading. I was just pulling that antique icebox out the front door, when some guy in a police cruiser rolls up and starts yelling: 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph, can't you repo guys take a day off? It's Christmas for Christ's sake!' "

"Guv, you'll never guess."

"Nor will we, if you don't stop interruptin'! Go on James."

"C'etait notre ami, Simpson!"

"Can you believe it? Simpson comes roaring up, demanding to see the work order. I had to pull rank just to get him to calm down..."

"...and then he was still so confused, he said, 'Kinch, when did you get into collections?' "

"Took us twenty to explain the whole mission..."

"...an' then he was frosted that we didn't make 'im part of the convoy..."

"...but he was, how do you say? a good egg."

"Yeah, he even called in his cop shop."

"And somehow got a message to Father Mulcahy to stall Garlotti at Mass, until we sent the signal."

"Heureusement, I did not wait to begin a faire la cuisine."

"Louie cooked while Simpson stayed to make up for the delay, and we needed the extra pair of hands so Karl and Peter could put the bikes together."

"Ja, and I will need to speak to Doofi after the holiday, the instructions translating from Drusselstein dialect into Standard German was bad enough, but the translation into English?" Karl jumped into the conversation, since it was clearly the standard mission debriefing.

"Bloomin' unreadable, but what do you expect from a royal ne'r do well toff from Lichtenstein?"

"Newkirk, you know we needed those UN votes, surely we could put up with Fritzie's mother's cousin as a favor to Her Majesty and MI5?" Karl protested.

"Ahem! Lads, 'little pitchers have big ears'" Betty looked pointedly at her mystified son, "and would you let poor James get on with it?"

"We were almost done, when Newkirk let the cat out..."

"...wasn't for ol' Simpsy, Martha would have herself a new fur muff, she would."

"Pauvre bête!"

"Louie, it 'ad glowin' green eyes, seven toes on each paw, charcoal grey, thirty pounds if an ounce, an' two inch fangs! It was a bloody sabertooth!"

"Non, not more than quatre centimètres."

"Which is?!"

Lebeau gave a Gallic shrug, "eh, an inch and half."

"Fellas!" Their leader hung his head in mock annoyance, secretly hiding a wide grin behind his hand. "Can we stop with the cat and get back to the report?"

"Not much to say after that, Rob. We got everything cleaned up and sent up the signal."

"Guys, think they liked it?" asked their demolitions expert eagerly.

"Simpson said that they were the best fireworks he'd ever seen, with the heavy cloud cover rolling in, they showed up pretty well – and we high-tailed it out of there. Mission accomplished."

This time, Hogan didn't hide his smile.

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_December 25, 1969, 19:30 hrs_

_Bound Brook, New Jersey_

The house was quiet now; an extremely full house emptied of all but her husband, brother and their mates playing cards, and teaching her son 'the ropes'. Pete E was playing his hand with his Uncle Wilhelm, losing or winning as the fit might take her brother (who was dealing, of course). They'd offered to let her play; Lebeau was anxious to see the sibling card-sharps try to one up the other, but Betty wisely declined. She would have many years to play with the others, but her patient's days were numbered, the good days even fewer. The old Kommandant needed the 'boys', the blokes he'd risked life and limb for. She'd had weeks of 'good-bye' time; it was their turn.

Softly, she walked up the stairs to the bedrooms; she knew that none of them wanted to leave. So she fixed up her son's old room for all her guests (one set of bunk beds against one wall, and a trundle bed with the lower bunk pulled out on the other). Then she straightened up Klink's room, and pulled the extra cot together for Hogan's use.

She smiled sadly;if nothing else, for the rest of his days, Wilhelm Klink would have Robert Hogan by his side.

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A/N:

Many thanks again to my core command group, Snooky, Kat and Wolfie as amazing betas, and to Susan M.M., who kindly has allowed Pvt. Jose Doofenshmirtz to play in my sandbox with the other kids, (try her Phineas & Ferb – HH crossover, Those in Darkness).

Also wish to thank the following people for reviewing: Snooky (I think I'll call her 'Double-Duty'), 80sarcades, Marie1964, and ElGringoLoco and Bill95337 for following this tale (Bill, hope you continue to enjoy it).

Translations:

le jambon – the ham

le chat – the cat

la petite – the little (one)

wo ich den LKW Parken – where do I park the truck

Um die Rückseite zu nehmen – take it around the back

ta gueule– shut up, literally, (shut) your muzzle

Assez – enough

C'etais notre ami – it was our friend

Heureusement – fortunately

faire la cuisine – to cook

Ja - yes

Pauvre bête – poor beast/creature

Non - no

quatre centimètres – four centimeters


	3. Chapter 3 - Lullaby and Memory

In the Watches of the Night

Chapter 3 – Lullaby and Memory

_December 25, 1969, 20:10 hrs_

_Bound Brook, New Jersey_

A dying man looks quietly at the one he loves most, an equally quiet smile on his face:

"Rob. Singen fur mich."

"What?"

"Rob, sing for me."

Pause - "What do you want me to sing?"

"You know, what we always sang in the watches of the night – especially when a cranky infant named Wilhelmina was involved."

"I'll try."

The younger man takes a steadying breath, and begins:

„Auf jedem Baum sitzt ein Vogel  
Singen ein Lied der Liebe."

Then silence.

A sigh, another shakier breath:

„Auf jedem Baum sitzt ein Vogel  
Und alle, den ich je gehört habe  
könnte mir das Herz brechen  
ohne ein Wort"

Silence.

"Sorry. Don't seem to remember the words... in German. I know you enjoy it more when I use German... I should be able...sorry, so sorry."

"Rob. Do not apologize. You are sad, and frightened. I am sad and frightened too. But I am so very happy that you are here. That the others are here. In fact, I am happy enough to sing it myself.

On every tree there sits a bird  
Singing a song of love  
On every tree there sits a bird  
And every one I ever heard  
Could break my heart  
Without a word  
Singing a song of love

A song of love is a sad song  
Hi-li Hi-lili Hi-lo  
A song of love is a song of woe  
Don't ask me how I know  
A song of love is a sad song  
For I have loved and it's so

Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo Hi-lo  
Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo  
Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo Hi-lo  
Hi-lili Hi-lili...Hi-lo

A tear for him, a tear for me_  
_A tear for the love he swore  
A tear for him and one for me  
And one for under the tree  
And one for wherever my love may be  
And then I shall weep no more

A song of love is a sad song  
Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo  
A song of love is a song of woe  
Don't ask me how I know  
A song of love is a sad song  
For I have loved and it's so

Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo Hi-lo  
Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo  
Hi-lili Hi-lili Hi-lo Hi-lo  
Hi-lili Hi-lili...Hi-lo

Silence.

"Rob. Look at me."

The younger man stubbornly continues to face the wall, away from those clear Prussian blue eyes.

"Rob. Look at me. Please."

Slowly, he turns, raising his eyes to look in Klink's general direction.

"Rob. It is alright, it is fine, to be frightened. It is fine to cry."

"I can't. Not now, not when you need me."

"Rob, I need you, yes. But I need to be needed also. I need to take care of you, too. While I still can."

Rob begins to pace, running a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck, and ending with an attempt to adjust a non-existent crush cap. He walks over and sits on the bed, taking Wili's hand in both his own:

"Why?"

"Because it comforts me to see you smile, to hear you laugh. I need your love, but you need mine just as much. I will die a happy man, now that you are here, but so far as we are able, I want to love and be loved in the time we have left. So let me help you share the burden of command, just as I have since before I became yours, and you became mine."

One of Klink's pet names for Hogan is 'Taliesin', for his silver tongued way with words; seldom did the General's wit desert him. But now, when he needs words the most? He's speechless.

He can't help himself; at his beloved's gobsmacked expression, the old Colonel giggles:

"I can almost wish that dear Andrew were still awake, he could take a splendid picture. It is always wise to have proof of an impossibility."

Still chuckling, Wili draws his Rob into a firm embrace.

A/N The song is called "Hi-lili Hi-lo" and was the hit song from the 1950 movie "Lili" - music by Bronislau Kaper, and lyrics by Helen Deutsch, this version sung and made famous by Leslie Caron.

This is where the first arc ends. I can promise at least five other story arcs (in no particular order) that will take off from this point:

A) In the Watches of the Night - Christmas, 1944;

B) In the Watches of the Night – A Good Dream;

C) For the Love of Hogan & Penicillin

D) The Mid-Day Ride of Wilhelm Klink

E) In the Watches of the Night – Nightmare

and there will be more transitional chapters to link them in, but they may not appear in chronological order.

My continuing thanks to my betas Snooky (Double-Duty yet again), Kat (ditto) and Wolfie, as well as to El Gringo Loco for his kind review and to dixiedamsel for following this story.


End file.
